


better than it was before

by renquise



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renquise/pseuds/renquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Wonshik is a short-track speed skater and Hakyeon is a figure skater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	better than it was before

**Author's Note:**

> I am v. much a casual fan of these sports, so please forgive me if I have gotten something horribly wrong, haha. In case not everyone is as stupidly invested in winter sports as I am, [here's a short track speed skating relay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMYHwNcxz9M)! (Also pls join me in appreciating the occasional design choice of making speed skating suits look like they include[ thigh-highs](http://media.gettyimages.com/photos/victor-an-of-russia-da-woon-sin-of-south-korea-and-yuzo-takamido-of-picture-id469129411) and imagining Ravi's legs in them, ty.)
> 
> And while I'm doing gratuitous visual aids, here is what Hakyeon's skating style looks like: [exhibit 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6rw5svR5PA), [exhibit 2](https://youtu.be/a9snEtUHJZ0?t=1m10s).

Hakyeon was still in the middle of his practice skate when Wonshik pushed open the door to the rink, the music echoing over the rink’s sound system. He was a little early, but that was fine.

Hakyeon's coach waved at him, and Wonshik paused on his way up the bleachers.

"It's been awhile," she said amiably when Wonshik greeted her. "He'll be done in a minute. Edges, Hakyeon! And the arms, yes, more pretty, more loose." 

It took Wonshik longer than he expected to make it up the stairs to the bleacher seats, but he had a good vantage from where he usually sat. He could see Hakyeon tracing a long, curving line into a spin, all clean, graceful lines in his black practice clothing against the ice. Wonshik hadn’t realized how long it had been since he last saw Hakyeon skate. A month, easily.

Hakyeon pulled his arms in, and the spin tightened and quickened. And then, his arms slowly folded out, his wrists supple and his head tipping against his shoulder as he pulled out of the spin. Wonshik held his breath when Hakyeon wound up to the jump that came after it, but he made it look easy, effortless. Another cool-looking footwork sequence that Wonshik hadn't seen before, and Hakyeon hit his ending pose in the middle of the ice, arm outstretched, his body tight and his expression focused. 

A breath, and then he dropped out of his ending pose, loose-limbed and smiling. Wonshik watched him trace a series of lazy curves over to the edge of the rink, his hands on his hips. From where he was sitting, he could glimpse Hakyeon pulling on his skate guards, bending over the tablet his coach was holding to monitor his practice footage. 

Wonshik raised his hand in a half-wave to see if Hakyeon would spot him, but Hakyeon was already headed back towards the locker room. He fumbled out his phone instead and tapped out that he was in the bleachers.

He hovered his thumb over his chat with Hongbin, and then opened it. It was already pretty late, so they should be done for tonight at the speed skating rink, by now. That was the way it usually went, anyway—they were probably done cooling down by now, might even be out of the rink already.

**Wonshik 23:55**  
hey how was practice? 

It hung there on the screen for a couple of seconds, and he chewed on his lip. Maybe they weren’t even out of practice yet. Was it weird to ask how practice was? It was probably the same as when he asked yesterday. He fumbled to put his phone back in his pocket, but then it buzzed in his hand. 

**Hongbinnie 00:03**  
p good, knocked a second off my 1500m time woo  
its weird practicing w hyunsik for the relay though  
taekwoon can’t get the timing right for the changeoff haha  
get better soon you jerk we need your weird mindmeldy thing with him

**Wonshik 00:07**  
ha ha

**Wonshik 00:09**  
tell hyunsik to like  
give him a little more space for the changeoff or something?  
idk it usually works 

**Hongbinnie 00:11**  
nope sorry needs the weird mindmeldy thing for it to work

**Hongbinnie 00:12**  
oh hey jaehwan says hi  
even though he could msg you himself to tell you that  
lazy 

**Wonshik 00:12**  
haha 

**Hongbinnie 00:15**  
how are you doing  
are things going okay 

**Wonshik 00:20**  
yeah  
okay 

Wonshik jumped a little when a styrofoam cup was pressed into his hands, scrabbling to grab his phone and not spill coffee all over himself.

“There you are,” Hakyeon said cheerfully, his practice jacket draped over his shoulders and his hair damp with sweat. “Drink it before it goes cold, hm? The coffee from the machine is barely drinkable when it’s hot.”

"Thanks. Um, you looked good out there. I like your new program," Wonshik said. 

“I forgot you hadn’t seen it yet,” Hakyeon said, grinning at him as he pulled his black gloves off and tucked them into his bag. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It looks really good,” Wonshik said. He thought that Hakyeon always looked nice when he was skating. “I liked the bit at the end, with the footwork?” 

“Of course you did. I did that choreography,” Hakyeon said. His smile was shy and pleased, though. “Oh, Hyukkie’s up. That’s his short program. I don’t think you’ve seen it either.”

Wonshik looked down at the ice, where Sanghyuk was winding up for his first jump. He still didn’t know much about the technical figure skating stuff, outside of what Hakyeon had explained to him over the past couple of years. Even he could see that Sanghyuk skated differently from Hakyeon, though—all power and huge jumps where Hakyeon was smooth lines and really pretty spins. There was something about the incongruously delicate line of Sanghyuk’s arms that reminded him of Hakyeon, though. He was pretty sure Hakyeon helped him with that segment. Sure enough, Hakyeon drew himself up and nodded approvingly when Sanghyuk transitioned into a spin.

“He’s getting better and better, isn’t he?” Hakyeon said, gesturing with his water bottle.

“Yeah.” Wonshik nodded. It seemed like only yesterday Hakyeon was telling him about Sanghyuk struggling to get his double axel down, and now he was knocking triples off, no sweat. 

It was the same thing with his team—it seemed like every year, there were kids in short track faster and stronger than he was.

His knee twinged, and he shifted it around a bit, trying to find a position that made it feel okay.

Hakyeon noticed, because of course he did. He huffed and grabbed at his leg, pulling it up into his lap. 

"You’re getting skinny,” Hakyeon said, frowning. “Are you eating well? How is your physio going? You’re wearing your knee brace, right?”

“I am!” Wonshik protested.

Hakyeon cast a suspicious look at him, but made an approving noise when he pushed up the leg of Wonshik’s jeans and found the edge of his knee brace.

It was the dumbest thing. Just a bad fall during practice.

They had been doing a practice relay, like they had done so many times before. Wonshik was on the anchor lap, matching his speed to Taekwoon's inside the track and darting into the track for Taekwoon to change off. He had pushed off from Taekwoon’s hands and leaned into the corner, the ice smooth under his skates and the momentum slinging him tight around the track, and he thought that they might beat their personal best, because they were a second under, easy.

And his skate slipped out from under him and he didn’t have a grip and his knee just—wrenched the wrong way.

All he could remember afterwards was his breath knocking itself from his lungs as he skidded across the ice and hit the padding, thinking, oh, oh fuck, did I hit anyone, did my skate cut anyone, his heart pounding against his ribs. A pair of skates stopped in front of him, and he saw Hongbin and Jaehwan bending over him, saying something. They looked worried.

He wanted to tell them that he was okay, really, that they could get back to practice now. He put a hand on the ice to get up, and his leg just—wouldn’t hold him. Collapsed out from under him with a bright hot burst of pain, refusing to take his weight.

Really dumb.

He didn’t need crutches to get around anymore, at least. 

Hakyeon looked over at him. “Are Taekwoon and the others still in the running for the final team for nationals?”

“All three of them, yeah,” he said. He was happy for Taekwoon, Hongbin, and Jaehwan, he really was. They might rank high in the national championships, and who knows, that might get then on the national team.

“That’s good,” Hakyeon said carefully, shifting his grip so he could rub careful circles along the sides of his knee. 

He didn't say anything else, and Wonshik was left with the scrape of skates on the ice as someone stopped Sanghyuk's music.

“Oh, nice jump,” Wonshik said as Sanghyuk wound up again and landed the tricky-looking combo on his second pass. Wonshik could see him grinning from all the way across the rink.

“That triple lutz-triple toe’s been giving him trouble, but he’s got it down now,” Hakyeon said. He patted Wonshik's knee, catching his attention again. “And your physiotherapist says you’ll be back on the ice by next season, right?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Wonshik said. That was the plan, anyway. “I hope so.”

“It’ll be better next year,” Hakyeon said firmly. 

When he heard “next year” from other people these days, Wonshik wanted to shrink in on himself and pretend that he didn’t hear it. People meant it to be comforting, they did, but it just made him more anxious, made him feel like time was slipping through his hands with every second his skates weren’t on the ice.

But from Hakyeon—it was okay. He didn’t mind. 

Both he and Hakyeon had been at the rink since they could walk. His mom had cute pictures of him in a bright yellow helmet with a gap in his teeth, and he had seen photos of Hakyeon in a tiny sequined vest, way before they had met when Hakyeon had moved to Seoul for better coaching. He knew that Hakyeon had had his share of disappointments: a whole set of near-misses and setbacks, a back injury that kept on returning at the worst times, and plain bad luck. 

So it didn’t make him go cold and sad inside when Hakyeon said, maybe next year. Because Hakyeon meant it, because Hakyeon knew that you had to keep on believing it.

Wonshik had invited Hakyeon over for drinks during the figure skating World Championships two years ago, when Hakyeon had narrowly missed qualifying. He knew Hakyeon would be watching anyway, and he thought it might be good for him to have company.

He remembered Hakyeon leaning up against him, his head drooping against his shoulder while he gestured with his glass towards the screen. “I wouldn’t have missed that axel,” Hakyeon said. “Right, Taekwoon?”

“Mm,” Taekwoon said through a mouthful of chips. Wonshik was pretty sure that Taekwoon had exactly zero idea what an axel was, but Hakyeon didn’t seem to mind.

“Exactly,” Hakyeon said. “Exactly. I would’ve nailed it.”

Wonshik patted his knee. Hakyeon took another sip from his glass. “Next time,” he said, watching at the skater glide off the ice and hug his coach. Wistful, but mostly okay, from what Wonshik could tell, and that was what counted.

Hakyeon stayed at Wonshik’s apartment long after all the others straggled off, even after all the post-competition analysis and interviews had ended and they had given up on finding anything good to watch. 

Hakyeon was quiet, fitted to Wonshik’s side with his head tipped over onto his shoulder and his hand hooked over Wonshik’s leg under the duvet. The wash of late-night shopping ads was kind of soothing, but all Wonshik could concentrate on was Hakyeon’s thumb stroking back and forth on his thigh. Wonshik could feel him breathing evenly against his shoulder.

Wonshik woke up the next morning to Hakyeon carefully placing the duvet back over him.

“Early practice,” he whispered, squeezing Wonshik’s wrist, his hair swept messily to the side, looking tired and a little hung-over and determined. “You sleep, you don’t have to go until later, right?”

Wonshik still didn’t know if he had turned his head to the side to clumsily kiss the back of Hakyeon’s hand, or if he just wished he had. He remembered the brush of Hakyeon’s fingers across his cheek, though, and Hakyeon whispering “thanks” as he slipped out the door.

And sure enough, next season—there was Hakyeon with bronze laying against the sequins of his costume on the podium at the World Championships, clutching a bouquet and smiling and smiling and smiling, his eyes bright. Wonshik had screamed himself hoarse watching it on TV, launching himself around his living room to hug Taekwoon and Jaehwan and everyone within reach, because he couldn’t hug Hakyeon from the other side of the world.

Hakyeon had called him that night, forgetting the time difference and running on elated fumes, his voice brimming with joy over the shaky skype connection. It was so different from the times he had called Wonshik late at night the year before, exhausted and anxious because his back was hurting and he couldn’t sleep, and Wonshik had felt so, so glad to be lying in bed and listening to Hakyeon talk from the other side of the world.

Wonshik looked out at the rink. Sanghyuk was winding up for another pass at the jump sequence, his hair blown to the side with his speed and his face focused. 

He missed that feeling. It had been a month and a half since he was on the ice.

Wonshik fiddled with his cup of coffee, picking at the styrofoam edge until it formed a ragged edge all the way around. The coffee was probably cold, by now. He couldn’t feel the warmth seeping out to his hands.

Hakyeon squinted at him. “Your physio is probably telling you not to push yourself too hard. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Wonshik looked away from him. Maybe. Maybe with those exact words, too. “I’m keeping up with the sessions,” he said.

Hakyeon made a face at him. “Uh-huh. I bet. You know you can’t make it heal any faster? It’ll only take longer if you do too much.”

“I _know_ ,” Wonshik snapped back, because he knew that, he knew that it couldn’t go any faster, no matter how much he wanted it to.

The sharpness of his voice bounced back at him through the empty bleachers.

He ducked his head, staring at Hakyeon’s hands on his stupid, stupid knee. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just,” he started. They were just supposed to meet up and get coffee tonight, and it was supposed to be easy and fun and a distraction, and now he had messed it all up.

Hakyeon squeezed his knee. “It’s okay,” he said. “Sorry for nagging.”

Hakyeon’s hands weren’t massaging his knee anymore, instead just resting lightly on it, cupped over his knee like a shield. One of Hakyeon’s hands drifted down to his ankle, Hakyeon’s thumb drawing back and forth over his anklebone. 

Wonshik shivered. He had been sitting still for awhile, and he could feel a chill setting in, even with his puffy jacket. His knee felt stiff. He really was wasn’t looking forward to standing up.

Hakyeon craned his head down to look at his face. Wonshik pulled the corners of his mouth into a smile, but the crease between Hakyeon’s eyebrows deepened.

He knew that his physical therapist was pretty sure that he’d be back to competitive form in time for next season. He knew that people get injured in short track all the time and usually bounced back just fine. He knew that he was still pretty young, that he still had a good six years ahead of him. 

But it still made Wonshik’s chest pinch, tight and achy, when he thought “maybe next year.” It scared him, to have “maybe next year” stretching out in front of him, year after year after year and nothing beyond that. 

Wonshik tilted his head back. He could feel his eyes watering from the bright lights of the rink. His knee hurt.

“Oh, Wonshik,” Hakyeon said. 

Hakyeon dropped his leg and tugged at his arm, and Wonshik toppled into him, the edge of the plastic seat digging into his leg and his arm awkwardly smushed between them and his face in Hakyeon’s chest as he clung to Hakyeon’s practice jacket. He sucked in a shuddering breath. Hakyeon smelled like clean sweat and the citrus smell of his detergent, Hakyeon’s hand a warm weight on his back. 

“It’ll be okay,” Hakyeon said. His voice sounded so close with Wonshik’s ear pressed to his chest, the sound of it rounded and softened. 

“I know,” Wonshik said. 

He wasn’t sure if that was true or not. Wonshik wished he could summon up half the confidence that Hakyeon had. Some bitter, sad part of him said that it was easy for Hakyeon to say that it would be okay when he had already tasted some success. He felt terrible even thinking that, though.

“What if it doesn’t get better,” Wonshik said. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, not exactly.

“It will,” Hakyeon said firmly.

“But what if it doesn’t.” 

It was stupid and pointless to say that, but it was what he wondered when he woke up in the night with his knee hurting, when he was lying awake waiting for the painkillers to kick in.

It scared him, that he didn’t really know who he was without skating. Didn’t know who he was without early mornings at the rink and the rush of rounding a corner on the last lap, his thighs burning and his breath short and his skates singing against the ice and breathless momentum slinging him around the corner and upright again, the finish line just ahead. 

Hakyeon chewed on his lip. He looked like he didn’t know what to say, and Wonshik felt kind of guilty for laying this on him, because he didn’t know what he wanted Hakyeon to say, either.

“I have a couple more competitive years in me, with my back,” Hakyeon said, after a long, long silence. “I might have a shot at the next Olympics, but after that—I don’t know. I want to choreograph and coach. I think I’d be good at it.”

Wonshik looked over at him. Hakyeon was looking at him expectantly, and Wonshik didn’t get it.

“Yeah, you would be?” he offered, feeling a little anchorless. It was true. Hakyeon had the loving firmness that a coach needed. He still didn’t know what it had to do with anything.

Hakyeon accepted this with an nod, but he was still looking at Wonshik, waiting. 

Wonshik looked back at him, at a loss. He didn’t know what to do with all of Hakyeon’s gentle laser-focus bent on him at the best of times, and he was definitely not at his best. 

“What about you?” Hakyeon prompted him, lightly shaking his leg. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Wonshik said. 

Hakyeon pushed him back gently and made a face at him. His hand stayed anchored on Wonshik’s shoulder, though, and Wonshik couldn’t help but lean into it, even though his thigh was still digging into the edge of the plastic seat. 

“You do, though,” Hakyeon said.

“I want that shot at the Olympics,” he said. And he did, he wanted it so badly. 

Hakyeon nodded. “And after that? What else?” he prompted. 

“I don’t know,” he said again, helplessly.

“You have to have something else, too,” Hakyeon said firmly. 

Wonshik ducked his head, sucked in a shuddering breath. When he glanced up, Hakyeon was looking at him. His eyes were bright, and he was blinking a lot.

“I was thinking,” Wonshik started, and then stopped. 

Hakyeon made an encouraging noise. 

“My physiotherapist—she’s been really cool. I thought, maybe, I don’t know, of applying for physio studies. I’d have to take some classes, but. Maybe. I could help people. And, and stuff,” he said.

Hakyeon smiled, and it spread across his face like a beam of sunshine casting in through the windows, trembling and brilliant and relieved, and Wonshik felt terrible all over again for making him worry.

“You’d be good at that too, Wonshikkie,” he said.

“Yeah?” Wonshik said. 

“Yeah,” Hakyeon said, catching his hand and squeezing it tight. “You’re good at anything you want to do. You— you should do what you want to do, what makes you happy. And there’s lots of things you could do, right?”

Wonshik let out a shaky breath. He still felt kind of watery, his chest too-full and his knee achy, and everything still felt precarious and tentative, but.

But it didn’t feel like giving up, to say it out loud, to say that there were options other than skating. He didn’t expect that, even though he’d been thinking about it for awhile. 

Hakyeon kicked his heels in front of him, his skate guards making a muffled thump against the mats. The rink was empty by now, except for the zamboni clearing the ice in long stripes, the familiar background hum echoing off the rafters of the rink and the lights dimmed.

“Thanks,” Wonshik said, rubbing at his eyes and squeezing Hakyeon’s hand.

“Mm. You’re going to be okay,” Hakyeon said, as if saying made it so. When Hakyeon said it, Wonshik almost believed it, though.

Hakyeon stood up, looking down at the rink. He rocked back and forth on his skate guards. They were the only ones left, and the lights would probably be turned off soon.

The curve of Hakyeon’s parted lips made something ache inside Wonshik, but that wasn’t new.

It felt like too much to say that he also wanted Hakyeon. That it was hard to imagine a future without Hakyeon in it, responding to his chat messages at weird hours of the night and cheering embarrassingly loud at his races to make up for the ones he couldn’t be there for. It felt too greedy.

“I was thinking,” Hakyeon said, too-casually. “There’s an outdoor rink by my apartment. I keep seeing the strings of lights from my window when I come back from practice. It’s pretty.”

“Across from your place, in the plaza?” Wonshik said. 

“Mm. We should go. You and me, just for fun.”

Wonshik jerked his head up. Hakyeon’s eyes were dark and bright in the dimmed lights of the rink. 

“And you can tie my skates for me,” Hakyeon continued, as if he hadn’t been tying his own skates since he was five years old. “And buy me hotteok. You better not strain your knee.”

“Okay,” Wonshik stuttered out. “Yeah. Okay. That would be really nice. I’d like that.”

Hakyeon’s breath caught, his mouth forming a soft o that spread into a smile. Wonshik thought, not for the first time, that Hakyeon was really brave.

“I’d like that a lot,” Wonshik said again, helplessly. He wanted to say just how much he would like it, but his words felt all caught up in the tentative tangle of hope rolled up in his chest. 

But he leaned towards Hakyeon, and Hakyeon seemed to get it. Hakyeon put a hand under his elbow to help him up, and kept it there even once Wonshik was steady on his feet, his hand tucking itself around Wonshik’s arm and falling easily into the crook of his elbow. 

With his skates on, Hakyeon was of a height with him, and Hakyeon didn’t even need to lean up to close the distance between them. 

He kissed like Wonshik always thought he might, thorough and deliberate and intent, the warmth of his lips chasing the chill of the rink. 

The lights in the rink clicked off, and Hakyeon let out a little yelp as it left them in the dark. 

“Oh, shoot,” Hakyeon said. “Okay, we’d better go before we get locked in.”

Wonshik couldn’t help giggling, dropping his head to Hakyeon’s shoulder.

“Let’s go, hm?” Hakyeon said. He poked Wonshik in the side. “Why did you climb up so high in the bleachers? You haven’t even been off crutches that long. Take your time with the stairs, okay, there’s no hurry.”

Wonshik nodded and let himself lean on Hakyeon’s arm to get down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

When Wonshik crossed the finish line after the last lap two years later, he let himself slow down, gliding around the last corner and standing up out of his crouch, his hands loose at his sides. 

It felt like another practice, like their coach was going to call them over for notes and tell them to cool down with some stretches. 

And then, it was like his ears unblocked with a pop, and he could hear the crowd roaring, and he gasped out a laugh, like his chest was suddenly too full for air.

Taekwoon crashed into him, grinning and grinning, and Hongbin and Jaehwan joined him soon after, and Wonshik clung to Taekwoon’s arms and Hongbin’s sweaty back and everything of Jaehwan that he could reach. 

Taekwoon disentangled himself to reach for a flag waving on the sidelines, draping it across Jaehwan’s shoulders like a cape and draping himself across Hongbin’s shoulders. 

Wonshik saw Hakyeon and Sanghyuk on the sidelines shouting something, and he pushed off, let his momentum carry him across the ice and into the padding and flopped on top of it with his skates still dangling over the ice and his arms reaching for Hakyeon.

Hakyeon caught him up and dragged him closer, his lips pressed to Wonshik’s cheek, knocking his safety glasses askew, and Sanghyuk was slapping his back and hollering in his ear, and Wonshik laughed, too giddy to do anything except cling tighter to Hakyeon’s jacket. He was pretty sure he was crying a bit, but Hakyeon was too.

He still couldn’t hear what Hakyeon said when he pulled back, thumbing at the wetness on his cheeks .

“Yeah,” Wonshik agreed giddily, because he couldn’t think, couldn’t register anything except the roar in his ears. “Yeah. I love you a lot. Oh my god, we won.” 

And Hakyeon laughed and kissed him on his cheeks again and every cell in his body was so alive.

Hakyeon found him in the locker room once the medal ceremony was over and they had made their way through all the interviews. Wonshik kind of wondered if the things he had said for the team would make any sense at all later, because all he could remember was dazedly trying to remember all the people they wanted to thank and Taekwoon hanging over his shoulder and nodding at everything. 

Wonshik looked up from tying his shoes and was surprised again by the weight of the medal around his neck thumping gently against his chest.

“Congratulations,” Hakyeon said, his eyes dark and bright. He caught Wonshik’s chin and tilted his face up to kiss him, very thoroughly.

Two weeks ago, the day before they were due to drive over to Pyeongchang for the games, Hakyeon had sent him an email. It contained an apartment listing, with the rent, the utilities, and the distances from the rink and Wonshik’s university buildings carefully laid out in a list. 

Wonshik had stared at it for a long time before jerking his head up to look at Hakyeon sitting on the couch on the other side of the room. Hakyeon looked up from his tablet, darted a quick glance over at him, and Wonshik finally knew why Hakyeon had been so antsy all week, even once he had finally announced that he was retiring from competition after the games. 

Wonshik had tripped on his own feet and almost brained himself on the coffee table getting over to him to say yes, which would have been a really embarrassing way to miss his first Olympics.

“What was it you said back at the rink? Sorry, I completely missed it,” Wonshik asked as Hakyeon sat down beside him while he packed his equipment back into his bag. 

Hakyeon laughed and went a little red around the ears.

“I said, ah. That you’re probably going to ask if we can wear matching medals to bed tonight, aren’t you.” 

Wonshik tried not to choke on his own spit.

“Because it’s traditional,” Hakyeon continued very sagely. “Couple medals. Like couple outfits, but better.”

Wonshik was pretty sure that Hakyeon didn’t even like couple outfits that much. But it was exactly the kind of sappy, ridiculous bullshit that Wonshik was a sucker for, and Hakyeon totally knew that by now. Hakyeon’s hand high on his thigh seemed to promise that Hakyeon was going to push him down and ride him with the glint of gold bouncing on his chest and reflecting off his skin, and Wonshik could feel his face flushing, because it was cheesy and cliche and stupidly hot, and Wonshik loved it, loved him. 

“I love tradition,” Wonshik stuttered out. 

“I know,” Hakyeon said, grinning.

There was snow coming down when they stepped out the door of the rink. Hakyeon put his palms out, snowflakes settling on his black gloves. His eyelashes cast over his cheeks when he bent to look at them. Wonshik curved himself around Hakyeon's back and clasped his hands around his waist and felt full to the brim.

“Hm?” Hakyeon said over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Wonshik said. “Just. Happy.”

"Good," Hakyeon said with a satisfied nod.

Hakyeon grabbed his equipment bag from him, slinging it over his shoulder with one hand and catching Wonshik's hand with the other, and they went.


End file.
